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He knew without a doubt that’s where he’d find her.
Frankie satin themiddle of the studio with her legs crossed. She stared down at the picture in her hands, the younger version of her face beside her parents. The photo Robert had ruined.
Jace is a shapeshifter. A Berserker.
And so was Robert.
A shiver ran down her spine as she thought of the symbol glowing between Jace’s shoulder blades. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t reconcile the two images. The two feelings couldn’t coexist in her mind. Jace was rough, his temper befitting of any alpha, and his strength... insane. But he wasn’t a killer. Not like Robert.
The image of his gun trained on her the first night they met flashed in her mind. Even though he hunted her kind, he hadn’t killed her. She supposed she’d known from the start that he was...different. Like her and yet not. In all the best and worst ways.
She cursed under her breath.
The man she loved, her mate, wasn’t even of the same species. He was human, or close to one really, a shapeshifting warrior whose ancestors had been blessed by ancient gods. The same creature that they were hunting. She shook her head. Her mother always told her life wasn’t fair, but she’d never said that fate could be downright cruel.
Frankie had learned that for herself—the hard way.
Running her thumb over the photograph, she tried to remember what her mother’s hair felt like, the feel of her father’s touch, but she couldn’t. Only five years since they’d passed, and already her memories of them were fading. She didn’t know which was worse: the pain of remembering their deaths or the realization that they may not have approved of the man she loved, because of what he was.
Hate goes both ways.
She hadn’t understood what Jace meant then, but she understood it now. Now that she’d witnessed firsthand the fallout his true nature had caused among her pack, but they’d make it through this. They had too. There was no other choice.
She set down the picture. The look of confusion in Jace’s eyes when he’d come out of his trance had been enough to convince her of his innocence. He hadn’t known he and Robert were the same kind of creature, and she couldn’t blame herself for not realizing the similarity in their scent, considering Jace’s injection from the Execution Underground, what made him a hunter, had masked it. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was some other kind of link. Some kind of connection between them. What was she missing?
Once the situation had been well in hand and it was clear Jace and all the members of her pack were safe, Rock and his crew had made hasty exits, and she’d bolted as fast as she could to come here. Since then, her thoughts had been racing nonstop, and she’d been unable to collect them so she could make any sense of how she felt.
The man I love and the killer are the same creature.
She cursed herself. How had she missed the connection?
His name carved in the girls’ forearms, her apartment being targeted just after she met him, the killer knowing his name, and now the symbol. That all pointed to something more than random coincidence. But what?
A loud knock interrupted her jumbled thoughts. With mechanical movements, she wandered to the studio’s door and stared through a crack in the window’s paper like a peephole. Her heart jumped in her chest.
Jace.
Shit. What was he doing here? He should be resting, preserving his energy. Obviously, she didn’t want him to injure himself, but she’d needed space. Somewhere quiet to think and he’d been in good hands. She cursed herself. She never should have left his side.
He’s your mate, and you told him you loved him last night. How could you expect he wouldn’t follow you to the ends of the earth now?
Another knock, harder this time, and the door rattled in its frame. “Frankie, I know you’re in there. We need to talk.” His voice came loud and clear through the wood, his tone tinged with frustration.
You said, “I love you,” but he never said it back.He never said it.
How could she be certain that’s how he would feel? She wanted it to be, yet...
“Frankie, please open the door.” His voice softened.
She inhaled deeply, slid off the chain lock and quickly pulled the door open.
Jace was standing in the street, leaning against her door frame. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and he looked drained of all energy, but damn him, he was still gorgeous—still perfect in every way. “Come on in.” She turned away and retreated into the studio.
Following her, Jace stepped inside and shut the door. “We need to talk,” he said.
“I know.” She cupped his cheek. “I’m just not sure if this is the right time to do that when everything feels so charged, Jace.”
Especially when we count the crazy coincidences or the mounting pile of problems with our names on it.
